


Spicy Shrimp Chips

by ChocoholicFangirl



Series: Haikyuu!! Magic Fest 2016 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 22:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7909441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoholicFangirl/pseuds/ChocoholicFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Haikyuu!! Magic Fest</p>
<p><b>Spell Two</b>: Supernatural Creatures</p>
<p>
  <em>Tooru ran past Sawamura, who was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper like he was forty or something, and slammed the front door behind him. The hallway was empty, so he pulled out a mirror and checked again. He was fine. Everything was fine. Even his roommates were nothing to worry about, Tooru thought, as he heard Bokuto’s shriek.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>(“Fuck! Oikawa! Everything’s wet in here!”)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>They could think of him as vain, as rude, as inconsiderate; as long as they continued to assume he was a completely normal human, college will be fine.</em>
</p>
<p>(Alternate Title: There Are No Dragons Here)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spicy Shrimp Chips

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [my wonderful roommate who cooks me food](http://www.ch-pineapple.tumblr.com) who should probably be credited for like 90% of the funny things that happen in this fic, especially with Kuroo, she helped me plan this fic and dealt with my "I don't even know how to write" tantrums (you'll be surprised how many times this can happen over a weekend) and also she's reading this over my shoulder so I have to say this
> 
> Also many thanks to the people organizing this event! The prompts really motivate me to write, this has been a lot of fun

Tooru woke to someone banging on the bathroom door. His violent jerk almost ripped off the shower curtain.

“Oikawa! You’ve been in there for like half an hour, stop wasting water!”

It was Tooru’s twenty-second morning in this apartment, and the twenty-second time he’d fallen asleep in the bathtub. His head felt foggy. He awkwardly got all his limbs in order and clambered out, spilling water all over the tiled floor, as Kuroo continued shouting: “Some of us have morning classes, you know! Let me in! I’ll just brush my teeth, I won’t look at you!”

Tooru went about everything carefully: drying every inch of himself, the towel rough against his sensitive skin; blow-drying his hair, gritting his teeth against the harsh heat; meticulously applying his makeup, movements steady from days of repetition. By the time he was getting dressed, Kuroo was gone, replaced by Bokuto.

“I’m super sweaty, Oikawa,” he whined. “Please let me shower. Everything’s sticky.”

“I’m almost done,” he replied absently, checking his reflection and double-checking and then checking it again. Everything’s fine, he told himself. Everything looks perfect.

“Thank God,” Bokuto groaned when Tooru opened the door. Even his hair was limp. Who wakes up this early to exercise? “Did you spend forty minutes on your hair or something?” As Tooru gave him a grin and an inane comment about _being popular is hard work!_ and scooted past, however, Bokuto seemed to do a double take. “Dude, you’re not wearing that, are you?”

Tooru looked down. He was wearing a red jacket and plaid shorts. Iwaizumi had picked them out, so Tooru had assumed they were fine. “Yes?”

Bokuto grabbed his arm. “God, no you’re not, how do you have that bad a fashion sense? Here, come on, what other clothes do you—”

It took a moment for Tooru to come to his senses, but the minute he realized Bokuto was dragging him towards his bedroom, he pulled his arm back. “Sorry, I’m going to be late for class!” he called, then got his bag and made a run for it even as Bokuto shouted after him to _at least change into jeans, those are hideous_ —

Tooru ran past Sawamura, who was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper like he was forty or something, and slammed the front door behind him. The hallway was empty, so he pulled out a mirror and checked again. He was fine. Everything was fine. Even his roommates were nothing to worry about, Tooru thought, as he heard Bokuto’s shriek.

(“Fuck! Oikawa! Everything’s wet in here!”)

They could think of him as vain, as rude, as inconsiderate; as long as they continued to assume he was a completely normal human, college will be fine.

 

* * *

 

Tooru had not been enjoying life in a big city. Sure, it was fun to see the neon signs and music pouring from open stores, but it was crowded and the subways were crowded and the people were so noisy all the time.

Such as now, when Tooru was bending over his textbook and laughter drifted in from the living room. He’d been dying for a glass of water for about an hour now, but every time he started to go outside, Kuroo and Bokuto have found something else inexplicably funny and Tooru just wished he had started looking for housing earlier, that there were other cheap options than living with these _children_.

Bokuto said something like “ohoho?” and they both dissolved into laughter, and Tooru buried his face in his hands. City people are the  _worst_.

When he had moved in, the first he met was Sawamura Daichi, who struck him as levelheaded and kind, so Tooru had thought everything would be fine, but Sawamura ended up being the one Tooru could stand the least. His things were always everywhere, jackets and books flung over every available surface; his bedroom floor was covered in junk, which drove Tooru up a wall. Sawamura walked through it all, seemingly unaware of the chaos left in his wake, and Tooru wanted to punch him.

Bokuto Koutarou was a walking fire hazard, and having a room next to his did not make Tooru sleep better at night. Their apartment had already received several warnings from the super for setting off the fire alarm too often. When Tooru first introduced himself to him, Bokuto had been in the kitchen, and had offered to make him some lunch. Within three minutes, he had burnt the rice, then set the entire frying pan on fire, then waved the pan around so that it left ugly black streaks all over the countertop, and Tooru, honest to God, thought he was going to die that day.

And then there was Kuroo Tetsurou, who Tooru wasn’t sure ever slept. He didn’t have any blankets on his bed, he was always drinking tea, and behind his stupid round hipster glasses his eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles. God, if Tooru went out there right now, he would probably still be drinking tea. It was almost midnight, and there was still about twenty pages of reading left, and if Kuroo offered Tooru any tea he was going to grab it and dump it over his stupid bedhead.

There was a knock on his door. “Oikawa?” Sawamura poked his head in, and immediately knocked over a pile of books. “We’re thinking of ordering some—”

He paused, and beyond him Tooru heard Bokuto say something about getting a drink, and then frantic flapping and Kuroo’s yell (“Bokuto? _Bokuto!_ ”) and the _psssshhhhh_ of the fire extinguisher. “—pizza,” Sawamura finished, as though nothing had happened, his face serene.

“I’m good,” Tooru said, managing a tight smile. He was going to move out the first chance he got. “I’m good right here, thanks.”

 

* * *

 

The bus was packed, which was ridiculous because it was almost one a.m. and after hours of studying at the library (he’s learned his lesson) having to cling to a pole and not fall over was almost beyond Tooru’s capabilities.

He closed his eyes. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Nobody’s staring at you. Nobody even notices you. Everything is—

He opened his eyes again, because it occurred to him that falling asleep while standing up and then being launched through the window when the bus stopped would be a really awful way to die, and the feeling of someone looking at him intensified.

Very, very slowly, Tooru yawned and used the motion to glance discretely over his shoulder. No starry eyes. No girls hiding their smiles behind their hands. Instead, there was a boy, maybe a freshman, frowning at Tooru quizzically.

_Shit_.

Tooru’s mind went blank. He squeezed his way to the door until he more or less tumbled off the bus at the next stop, even though it was still at least a ten minute walk to the apartment. At the first deserted street light Tooru yanked out his compact mirror and checked again; there it was—the makeup on his neck had started wearing off, exposing a sliver of orange scales.

Tooru resisted the urge to fix it—it was one in the morning, and he couldn’t help anyone if he got murdered in some alley—and sprinted his way home. The burst of air conditioning in his face as he opened the door made goosebumps rise on his skin, which probably wasn’t helping the situation any, and he realized that the sweat was probably ruining the makeup even more and none of his roommates were known for going to bed early.

Sawamura was seated at the couch, methodically folding origami (what?). “Welcome back,” he called, as Tooru stumbled past, tripping over paper planes (what?) and stacks of newspaper (okay, what was going on?). Then he looked up. “Oikawa? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine!” Tooru shouted, which even he was aware looked exceedingly stupid and not fine, and slammed his bedroom door.

“Oikawa?” Sawamura called. “Hey!”

“Did something happen?” Kuroo’s voice asked. Of course he was awake, Tooru thought as he redid his makeup. Of course they had to be up to witness his panic and embarrassment. That was just what he needed. He might as well go out there and have an emotional breakdown in front of them.

He closed his eyes. Or maybe they were just being nice and worrying over him. They’re not bad people, not really, despite Sawamura’s lack of ability to keep things off the floor and stop breaking lamps, and Kuroo’s—actually, Kuroo’s weirdness was pretty standard for a college student, if annoying. It’s not his fault Tooru was so on edge.

After about half an hour staring at the wall, Tooru uncurled himself from his cramped position and slowly approached the door. He should apologize to Sawamura, at least.

He opened his door, and almost stepped on the tray set just outside, with a steaming cup of tea and some crackers. There was a note that said _Hope you feel better!_ signed with… a cat?

Tooru sat down and wiped his eyes. He’s not wasting his tears on this. He’s _not_.

 

* * *

 

It was rare that their schedules all intersected, but when Kuroo offered to make dinner Saturday night, somehow everyone miraculously had nothing else to do.

“All right,” Kuroo said. He was wearing a cute Totoro apron and oven mitts that look like giant paws, and had his hair secured with colorful clips and his bangs in a toilet-brush ponytail. “Listen up. While I’m cooking, what’s Bokuto’s job?”

“Not going into the kitchen,” Bokuto recited, looking proud of himself.

Kuroo nodded, and pointed the spatula at Tooru. “And what’s Oikawa’s job?”

“Making sure Bokuto’s not going into the kitchen,” Tooru said.

“These are both _very important_.” Kuroo gave them a stern look over the rims of his glasses. “Do you understand? Do you know what the consequences of Bokuto in the kitchen is?”

“Yes,” Bokuto and Tooru chorused.

Kuroo went into the kitchen as though going off to war, while Tooru and Bokuto settle down to watch television. Sawamura had left earlier that afternoon; he had been sitting by the window all day, gazing out into the pouring rain, when he received a text (Tooru was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t even known Sawamura had a phone) and announced “my friends are in town, I’ll be back for dinner” and disappeared. Tooru had run to the window to see Sawamura get into a red convertible sports car with its top down, which is ridiculous. The driver had silver hair that glowed despite the darkness of the storm; Tooru thought one of the people in the backseat was wearing sunglasses, but that couldn’t be right.

So. Sawamura had friends from out of town. Tooru had thought Sawamura didn’t have any friends outside of his roommates, but in hindsight that made no sense. What about Kuroo and Bokuto? Did they have friends, too?

“Oh, there’s baseball!” Bokuto finally stopped channel-surfing. “I’m going to get a beer. Baseball and beer just go together. Do you want one?”

Tooru let out a noncommittal hum, still ruminating over the fact that apparently Sawamura’s friends were rich as shit. Then he remembered. “Wait, Bokuto—”

_FWOOM_.

When he thought back on it, he could see everything in slow motion: Bokuto’s happy skip, Kuroo turning around, Kuroo’s eyebrows attempting to take flight, and then fire pretty much exploding from the stove. At this point Tooru wasn’t sure if Bokuto was made out of incredibly flammable material, or if he just had really bad luck. Within the blink of an eye there was fire everywhere—Bokuto’s hair, Kuroo’s apron, the ceiling. And right on cue, there was the sound of the door opening and Sawamura’s “I’m back!”

Tooru turned around just in time to see the calm expression on Sawamura’s face freeze. He jumped up. “I’m sorry! It was my job to keep Bokuto out of the—oh my God, where’s the fire extinguisher—”

Sawamura sighed deeply, strode past Tooru without even looking at him (or at where he’s going, apparently, because he knocked over the small table by the couch), and into the kitchen. “I got this,” he said to Tooru, as an afterthought. “You might want to look away.”

They ordered pizza again that night, and ate it with a side of burnt meatballs.

 

* * *

 

Tooru wasn’t used to having to call Hajime to hear his voice and talk to him, but they were at different universities now—Hajime was going to be a doctor, Tooru was going to be a lawyer, they were going to race each other there, everything will turn out perfectly. For the first few months Tooru restrained himself, only called or texted when necessary, making sure not to destroy his budget with phone bills.

And then Hajime called him, in the middle of the night, and said: “I miss you, Tooru.”

For a second Tooru didn’t know how to answer, except maybe by bursting into tears. He managed to not do that. “I miss you too, Hajime,” he whispered. Okay, maybe he was crying a little. “I want to go home.”

“I know.” Hajime sounded pained. “I know.”

“I’m scared all the time,” Tooru continued. It felt as though a dam had broken. “I’m tired. Everything’s so _dry_. I just want everything to go back to the way it was.”

“I know,” Hajime repeated. “But we have to do this.”

They sat in silence. Tooru could hear Hajime’s breathing.

“How are your roommates?” Hajime finally asked.

Tooru thought about it. “They’re fine, I guess.” Even just talking to Hajime felt like lifting a huge weight off his chest, even though it reminded him of why he was here in the first place. He got to his feet; now that he was awake he might as well get a snack and study some more. “Kuroo helps me with my homework. He’s really good at history. Actually, he’s really good at everything.” Kuroo was so organized with his notes (they’re color-coded, even, what a pretentious nerd) that it made Tooru’s teeth hurt, but he won’t complain about Kuroo’s eagerness to sprout facts and explain all of Tooru’s classwork to him.

“And they have no idea?” Hajime asked, voice low.

“Hmm?” Tooru pulled a pack of shrimp chips out of the pantry. They were Sawamura’s, probably; he always kept the pantry stocked with food, even though he rarely ate them himself. Sawamura was a fucking saint. He tried to recall if any of them had ever seen him without makeup or commented on something weird he did. “No, I don’t think so. I—”

He paused. There was a softly glowing ball—a marble?—on the living room couch. Tooru reached over to pick it up. “Yeah, I think everything’s fine.”

There were footsteps, and Tooru quickly shushed Hajime. Bokuto appeared around the corner, his hair standing up in literally every direction. “I,” he panted, then looked down at the ball in Tooru’s hand. “That’s mine. Can I—”

Tooru tossed it to Bokuto, who caught it with evident relief. “Hey, thanks,” he said.

“No problem,” Tooru assured him. There was a flicker of something behind Bokuto, and Tooru blinked, startled. “Wait—”

Bokuto turned to go back to his room, and there was nothing. Tooru squinted, confused, but waved off Bokuto’s questions. He must be tired. Maybe he should go back to sleep, after all.

“What was that?” Hajime asked.

“My roommate forgot something.” Tooru looked down at the snack. Forget sleep, he decided. He’s started to really like Sawamura’s food. “What about you? How are your roommates?”

 

* * *

 

“Did someone eat my shrimp chips?” Sawamura asked, and Tooru might or might not have choked on his own spit.

“No?” Bokuto and Tooru said at the same time, and sounded equally guilty.

Sawamura sighed. “I said you could keep anything you guys wanted, except for the spicy shrimp chips. Did I not say that?”

His voice was calm and did not get any louder than normal conversation level, which was the scariest part. Tooru swallowed and said, “You said that.”

“Kuroo!” Bokuto screamed, jumping to his feet to run, and Sawamura reached out and yanked Bokuto back towards him.

Tooru blinked. But… that did not make any sense. Sawamura was standing in the kitchen doorway, Bokuto was on the other side of the living room. Tooru was standing between them, and he felt nothing but a huge gust of wind that blew his cereal out of his hands, shoved two lamps off the tables, and sent all the newspapers lying around the room flying into the air.

Oh.

It was as though a lightbulb went on in his head. Which is ironic, a rational part of his mind noted, because the sheer number of broken lightbulbs this household had sustained was astronomical.

“Oh.” Sawamura looked at Tooru. “Sorry, Oikawa. I forgot.”

Tooru swallowed again, this time for entirely different reasons. “Forgot what, precisely?” Did you forget to tell me or forget to hide it? Tooru did not say, because it occurred to him that Sawamura was probably actually a lot more powerful than he looked.

“To be fair, I’m not the only one,” Sawamura said, sounding very reasonable (no, not even a little bit reasonable). “Bokuto’s a kitsune. He thinks he’s good at keeping secrets, but, I mean—” He gestured at the kitchen.

“You’re a kitsune?” Tooru squeaked, turning to Bokuto, who was still half-sprawled from that blast.

“Maybe?” Bokuto answered, his eyes wide.

“And you’re a—” Tooru tried to find something to point a finger dramatically at, but there was just so many things. “A wind god?”

“A very junior one,” Sawamura assured him.

Tooru took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. He spent so much time figuring out how to hide, spent over three hundred dollars worth of foundation, and apparently all of it was useless?

No, not all of it. “Kuroo!” Tooru turned and ran to Kuroo’s room and slammed the door open. “Kuroo, please tell me you’re a normal—”

And then he saw the tanuki sitting on the bed, slouched, legs spread, in front of a book, with a spoon in its mouth and glasses on its face. It was holding a half-finished tub of ice cream. He stared. The tanuki stared back. Slowly, the tanuki reached for a nearby leaf and put it on top of his head. With a soft _poof_ , Kuroo was there, stark naked, still holding the ice cream.

“I’m going to bed,” Tooru announced, turned, and promptly ran into the door frame.

 

* * *

 

“Is that why you don’t have blankets?” Tooru demanded, after he’d sat down and screamed for about five minutes. “Because you use your—”

“No!” Kuroo rubbed his forehead. He was dressed now, thank God. “No, of course not. That’s such a gross misconception, what the fuck. I’m just not used to this weather. I used to live somewhere much colder.”

“I don’t really know why you’re so surprised,” Sawamura said mildly. “You’re a ningyo, aren’t you?”

“He is?” Kuroo spluttered.

“He’s a what?” Bokuto asked.

“A ningyo,” Sawamura explained. He picked up a lamp and in the process almost destroyed the TV. How did Tooru not see this? That no normal person would be capable of causing so much damage? Then again, next to Bokuto’s list of property damage fees a couple of lamps seemed inconsequential. “Fish person. People fish. However you want to think about it.”

“That’s a thing?” Bokuto asked, his eyes rounder than his hoshi-no-tama. Tooru had picked up Bokuto’s hoshi-no-tama and just handed it back like nothing. How many favors could he have extracted?

(Would he even want a favor from Bokuto, though?)

“I was just,” Tooru started, paused. Buried his face in his hands. “This is not what I signed up for. What are—why are you guys here?”

They looked at each other. “I just like staying updated,” Kuroo confessed. “I’m getting my third PhD. Chemical engineering.”

“You—” Where would Tooru even _start_? “You’re a PhD student?”

Kuroo looked at him, with maybe a little pity. “Oikawa. I _teach_ your 8 a.m. chemistry class. My _name_ is on your syllabus. Although, I guess you’re always asleep in that class. You get up so early to get ready…”

Tooru said nothing. He had a feeling that if he opened his mouth he’ll just start laughing. He could feel the hysteria twisting his lips.

“Well, I just want to play volleyball,” Bokuto announced. “My people don’t like playing with me, you know? Plus they make fun of me for only having one tail.” He drooped for about 0.45 seconds, then came back to normal with a _snap_. “I like playing for intramural teams! I wish I could play for the school team, but I can’t let the pro scouts see me, they still have me on their files from like twenty years ago.”

“My boss told me to use my stored up vacation days,” Sawamura said. “He said if I kept letting it rack up I might as well just retire next year.”

“This is your idea of a vacation?” Tooru demanded. What is _wrong_ with them?

“Kuroo asked me if I wanted to join him,” Sawamura explained. “We’ve done some business before, so we knew each other. Plus, getting a degree makes me eligible for promotions, or a raise at the very least.”

A wind god. The self-stocking pantry now made sense.

No, Tooru snapped at himself. Nothing made sense. This is so stupid. “Why didn’t you tell me? Sawamura, you’ve known what I am the entire time and you just said nothing?”

Sawamura raised his hands placatingly. “I didn’t want to stress you out.”

“ _Didn’t want to stress me out?_ ” Tooru’s voice was shrill. “Did you think, maybe, that letting me know I don’t have to wear makeup twenty-four-seven would give me less stress? I mean, this shit isn’t good for your skin!”

Tooru put his head between his knees before he passed out or something. He could tell they were exchanging looks over his head, which pissed him off more. “Sorry,” he said, to the floor. “I shouldn’t be yelling. Can we just—forget any of this happened?”

“But this is good, right?” Bokuto said, excited. Tooru looked up to see him beaming. “If you need any help with anything, you can ask us now! I mean, we have experience with this human society stuff!”

“ _I_ have experience with this human society stuff,” Kuroo corrected. “Bokuto’s family asked me to keep an eye on him. Sawamura… Sawamura does okay.”

“Why do you guys have to be like that?” Bokuto grumbled, turning to stomp away. Sawamura grabbed the back of his shirt before he could get too close to the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Tooru sighed. At the very least, this would be something fun to tell Hajime, as opposed to constantly wondering out loud whether he would actually make it into law school. “Thank you guys.”

“What about you?” Kuroo asked, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. “Why are you here? Looking for your soulmate?”

Tooru thought of his people. He thought of mottled black over gleaming scales, whimpers of pain, trembling fins. Blood spilling from Takahiro’s mouth. Ushijima’s towering figure blocking out the light. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please look up kitsune and tanuki if there are some jokes here you didn't get, I promise it's worth it
> 
> **Bonus:**
> 
> Oikawa: Kuroo, you have a leaf on your—wait. Never mind.
> 
> *Daichi walks past, gusts of wind following him. The leaf flies off Kuroo’s head. There is a poof.*
> 
> Oikawa: I want to go home.
> 
> On another note, please imagine Daichi talking to Suga on the car about Oikawa and them worrying about him together ("Just let me talk to him" "Suga no, no rain in the house") while Asahi sits in the back being shady (my roommate: get it? get it? because sunglasses! come on guys)
> 
> (Feel free to come talk to me at my [tumblr](http://chocoholicfangirl.tumblr.com), and, I don't know, yell at me about my tense inconsistencies or the fact that there literally were no dragons here, why didn't I have dragons)
> 
> (Will there be a sequel? Will there be a series? Who knows)


End file.
